


Just to Listen to Your Breath

by caleprwrite



Series: Come to My Window [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, MCU, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Best Friends, Gen, Platonic!Stucky, Young!Stucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 00:13:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11070009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caleprwrite/pseuds/caleprwrite
Summary: Series of fics inspired by Melissa Etheridge's incredible song "Come to My Window"





	Just to Listen to Your Breath

**1930**

 

_ I would dial numbers _

_ Just to listen to your breath _

_ I would stand inside my hell _

_ And hold the hand of death _

 

_ You don’t know how far I’d go _

_ To ease this precious ache _

_ You don’t know how much I’d give _

_ Or how much I can take _

 

_ Just to reach you _

_ Just to reach you _

_ Oh to reach you _

 

Twelve year old Steven Grant Rogers had never backed down from a fight. He had the scars on his skin and the breaks in his bones to prove it. Given the fact that he was small for his age,  _ really _ small, he’d been picked on more than your average Irish boy growing up in Depression Era Brooklyn. 

Steve’s size had made him an easy target for the bullies on the school yard. Combine that with the fact that he was a mouthy little shit and he was practically a walking, talking target. Steve didn’t like bullies. He didn’t care who they were or where they came from, he’d stand up to them every time. He’d square his little shoulders, raise that chin and stare up with all the righteous indignation those bright blue eyes could muster. He’d stubbornly take punch after punch. Each time he’d get knocked down just to get back up and mouth off again.  _ ‘Hey, is that all ya got?’ _ and  _ ‘I can do this all day!’ _ were two of his favorite things to spit back.

Thirteen year old James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes was fascinated by science and all the possibilities future inventions held. Much to his teacher’s disappointment, Bucky always had his head in the clouds and couldn’t seem to focus on the here and now. Subjects such as history and grammar bored him to death. Bucky was tall, strong, had a bright smile and piercing grey eyes. He was a friendly and popular kid who got along with just about everyone. Even so, he’d been in more fights than he cared to admit. 

Nine out of ten of those fights were for the sole purpose of saving Steve Rogers’ scrawny ass. All because he was a mouthy little shit who didn’t know when to quit. The only other time Bucky got in a scruff was if anyone-  _ anyone _ , said something bad about Steve, because Bucky practically worshipped the ground the kid walked on.

Ever since grade school, Steve and Bucky were inseparable. As they grew older, everyone assumed Bucky was the one that caused the trouble. Nobody would believe that the frail, innocent looking, artistic, golden haired boy who went to Mass each Sunday would be capable of causing such grief. Bucky didn’t mind, he allowed everyone to make their assumptions. Taking the blame for both of them was just one of Bucky’s million ways to protect Steve. If Steve lived to mouth off, then Bucky lived to jump in and save Steve. If for some reason he didn’t get there in time to back him up, he’d always at least scrape him up off the pavement. That alone kept the boys plenty busy. So busy, that sometimes Bucky thought Steve might actually  _ like  _ getting beat up. 

Each time Bucky did step in for Steve, he’d hear about it later for sure. The prideful little shit hated being coddled, and insisted he was just fine on his own.  _ ‘I had him on the ropes, Buck!’  _ The taller boy would patiently take the verbal lashing all the while cleaning and patching up the blond’s cuts and bruises. That’s just how it was with Steve and Bucky. 

Steve’s mother Sarah was a nurse and taught Bucky basic first aid once she realized her son was never going to change. Sarah Rogers knew Steve’s heart, partly because she was his mother, and that’s what mothers do. Also, because Steve got his stubborn streak directly from her. She wouldn’t trade it for the world though, because it was that very quality that kept his little body fighting through so many illnesses. 

When Steve was a toddler he was diagnosed with Asthma. He was Anemic, and ran fevers frequently. Each winter he’d practically catch his death with Pneumonia. So, did Sarah want Steve to soften up? Go with the flow, learn how to take life as it came- without a fight? Not on your life. That instinctual, ingrained need to fight is what kept Steve alive.

During the late fall of 1930, Steve’s Pneumonia arrived before the first snow. He was so sick he’d slept nearly two days straight, and it scared the shit out of Bucky. It was the first time Bucky stood watch at Steve’s bedside for a weekend straight, talking the sick boy’s ear off about everything from how he couldn’t wait for Steve to try his new favorite bubble gum called Double Bubble to daydreaming about  transatlantic flight. 

“One day, Stevie,” the brunet boy said. “You just wait, we’ll be flyin’ too. All the way to Paris. Wouldn’t that be somethin’?”

Finally.  _ Finally, _ Steve woke up and started to talk and eat broth. The color in his eyes was still dim and they looked sunken, but Bucky didn’t care because Steve was  _ back _ . That evening after supper, Sarah insisted Bucky return home and get rest before school the next morning, much to the boys’ dismay. Poor Steve could hardly keep his tired eyes open, but he loved listening to Bucky’s voice. It didn’t really matter what he was saying, the sound of it just made Steve happy.

Late that night, Bucky found out he was finally tall enough to reach the fire escape outside the bottom floor of Steve’s apartment building as long as he stood on the metal trash bin. He climbed up the three flights up to the Rogers’ home and shoved open Steve’s window. 

Steve woke to a bitter cold breeze and the clumsy sounds of Bucky climbing through his bedroom window. “Buck, what’re you doin’?” Steve rasped, trying to suppress his cough and wrapping the blankets tighter around his body. Bucky quickly closed the window and kicked off his shoes. “Ma’s gonna kill ya if she hears you makin’ all this racket!”

“Just makin’ sure you’re doin’ alright, Stevie. Couldn’t sleep. Shove over, punk.” Bucky crawled in beside Steve and laid there whispering, picking right up where he left off when he’d gone home earlier.

After a few moments of silence, Steve thought Bucky’d finally fallen asleep. “Hey Buck?” Steve wheezed.

“Yeah Stevie?”

“How long was I out for this time?” Steve heard Bucky sigh, a heavy, worried sound. 

“Two days. 'Bout time you woke up,” Bucky said, turning in Steve’s bed so he could face the small blond.

“M’cold, don’t feel right. You think I’ll make it outta this one?” Steve asked, staring into Bucky’s worried grey eyes. His voice sounded tired, discouraged. “Winter ain’t even here yet…”

“Don’t you talk like that, Steven Grant Rogers! You ain't never backed off no fight yet, eh? You’re not ‘bout to start now, ya hear me punk?” Steve smiled at the ferocity in his best friend’s voice. Leave it to Bucky to give him shit for feeling sorry for himself.

He smiled, “Yeah, I guess you’re right, jerk. Besides, who’s gonna listen to ya yappin’ ‘bout all that future ‘n science stuff if not me?” 

“Hey!” Bucky groaned in mock offense. Steve laughed and shivered into a wheeze. “Turn over, Stevie. I’ll warm you up,” Bucky ordered. Steve did so and Bucky curled his larger, warmer body around his smaller friend. The laid chest to back, sharing the extra body heat. 

“Night, Buck.”

“Night, Stevie.”

 

_ Come to my window _

_ Crawl inside, wait by the light of the moon _

_ Come to my window, I’ll be home soon _

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfiction characters based on those owned by Marvel and Stan Lee.  
> Inspired by the lyrics written by Melissa Etheridge.
> 
> I own no one.


End file.
